


french me like one of your drawn girls

by parenthetic (renaissance), reginar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Ficlet, Illustrated, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 14:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11488146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/parenthetic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginar/pseuds/reginar
Summary: A brief moment aboard the Ship of Dreams.





	french me like one of your drawn girls

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this aaaages ago for a drawing aji/reginar was doing and she posted it onto tumblr, so now i'm posting it here!

The Ship of Dreams cuts through the ocean outside but in here, it creaks and sways, buffeted by waves. Yuuri leads the way to the room in the bowels where he’s been staying. Keeping on his toes, he trails his fingertips along the cool metal of the walls, painted pristine cream to give the illusion that, even down here, there is only luxury.

Viktor is close behind Yuuri, less steady on his feet but his eyes as wide as Yuuri’s were when Viktor had showed him into the ballroom—of course, for Viktor it is the squalor and oppressive dinge that are foreign.

“You said you draw.”

“I do draw,” Yuuri says, unable to shake the disbelief— _still_ —that someone like Viktor could possibly be interested in what he does with his life. “It’s only a hobby, though. I’m not very good at it.”

“Do you do portraits?” Viktor asks. He wraps one arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, pulling his arms down from the walls so they can walk side-by-side.

Yuuri acquiesces to Viktor’s touch. “Some, yes. I met some women when I was in Paris who—”

“Oh, I suppose there were a lot of admirers in Paris, lining up for the touch of your brush,” Viktor says. “But you will not talk of your past lovers tonight. Would you draw my portrait?”

“If that’s what you wish,” Yuuri says. He does not tell Viktor that there were no past lovers—only these kisses, hurried moments caught in between social obligations, and a journey that will end when they disembark and inevitably part ways.

He remains silent as they reach his room, a tight space with barely enough room between the sides of the doorframe for two to squeeze through. Yuuri has been keeping the bag containing his pencils, watercolours, and sketchbook under the bed, not out of any anxiety that someone might steal it, but rather that they might find it, and assume he has aspirations above his station.

While Yuuri flips to a clean page in his sketchbook, Viktor makes himself comfortable. It shouldn’t surprise Yuuri that Viktor is the kind of beauty who can look as natural in a cramped metal box as in a ballroom. Yuuri is still looking down, selecting a pencil, as Viktor says, “Where do you want me to pose?”

“On the bed,” Yuuri says, and when he looks up, Viktor is halfway to buck naked, stepping out of his trousers.

“There,” Viktor says. He climbs onto the bed and lies on his side, propping his head up in one hand, elbow cocked at a jaunty angle. “I am ready.”

Yuuri is quite certain that he has never blushed more in his entire life. “You—this is—I’ve never drawn anyone in the nude before.”

“That was the kind of portrait _I_ was referring to,” Viktor says flippantly.

“Very well,” Yuuri says. “I will do as you wish.”

He looks back down at his sketchbook to delay the inevitability of having to look at Viktor’s privates. Very briefly, he considers only drawing Viktor from the waist up, but… where would be the fun in that?

“You mustn’t be shy,” Viktor urges. “Worse things have happened at sea, and heaven knows we can get up to worse in—”

“I will not kid myself into thinking you have any designs on me,” Yuuri says, cutting him off.

Viktor’s face falls, but all too soon his expression turns simultaneously wicked and serious. “I have such designs on  you, Yuuri. First I will have you draw me like one of your French girls, and then I will happily French you until you can no longer walk. What do you say to _those_ designs?”

If Yuuri was blushing before, he would not want to see how he looks now. “I say—” He swallows and forces himself to look up, “—let me design your portrait first, and then we’ll see where the evening takes us.”

**Author's Note:**

> bonus content from my copy of the chambers slang dictionary:
> 
>  


End file.
